


the sun will rise (with my name on your lips)

by gunboots



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bucky and SHIELD'S world tour, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, F/M, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Mentions of Violence, Multi, Steve and Bucky are bad at fighting and apologies, Steve just wanted to help Bucky, SteveBucky Big Bang 2014, Warning: Loki, What-If, minor character death-ish, sorry not sorry for the amadeus cho shoutout, spoilers: he may have made it worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2614412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunboots/pseuds/gunboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you want from me?” Before he was Captain America, before he was Steven G. Rogers, Captain in the 107th, he was just Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers, after all this time, all this science, and all this power is still human. If it means making a deal with the god of lies to bring back his best friend, he’ll do it. </p><p>Every time.</p><p>Loki’s smile shifts. It’s ancient and terrifying, and it seals his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sun will rise (with my name on your lips)

**Author's Note:**

> This pretty much started as a 'what-if' Loki didn't return to Asgard in the end of Thor 2 as Odin and just let everyone think he was dead (again) and ended up as my shoddy attempts to write Commander Rogers and Serrure into the MCU. This fic also ended up taking a pretty depressing stance on the whole 'Steve fixes everything' trope, my bad. I blame the original trades with Bucky regaining his memory tbh.
> 
> Many thanks to Tiina for her lovely art right [here](http://valveillen.tumblr.com/post/102588777084/stevebucky-bb-art) and to [discreetmath](http://archiveofourown.org/users/discreetmath) for the beta. I'd also like to thank everyone who was superrr patient with me as I died over grad school while cranking this out. I forgot how encompassing mini-bangs could be, I'm grateful for everyone that held my hand/let me rant to them/work out plot technicalities at them. I'm already sorry for any weird formatting since my computer and ao3 actively hate each other. 
> 
> The title is from 'The Driver' from Bastille.
> 
> [EDIT]: I was contacted to change Bucky's Russian name, though I was originally assured by a native speaker this was a rough equivalent (with the assumption jacob was to be substituted for james), someone voiced discomfort about its use. Just an fyi and sincere apologies, both my consultant and I were unaware of its negative connotations.

It started, like every catastrophic decision does, with the best of intentions.

~

SHIELD has been quiet, and after almost half a year of constant scrutiny and trials and constant pressure at Steve’s back it all fades. Outside of the occasional conspiracy theory and news segment, the rest of the world seems to have forgotten about SHIELD’s mythical fall from grace, content to go from one catastrophic event to the next.

Steve doesn’t know what to make of how quickly the compromise of an entire international security network becomes old news. 

“Look at it this way, now you get the _occasional_ crazy fan, singular.” Tony remarks, setting down Starbucks cups beside Steve and Sam as they go through yet another set of files on the Winter Soldier. Steve still has a feeling that Stark Industries and a few SHIELD operatives probably have more to do with the way the world has seemingly forgotten about the meltdown of America’s top intelligence than they let on, but he doesn’t press.

With all Steve’s misgivings about him, Stark and the rest of the Avengers have already proven they’re the closest thing Steve’s got to friends now that SHIELD’s all but collapsed under its own weight. In a way, Tony probably thinks that throwing lots of money to make the problems go away is his way of showing some kind of solidarity. 

(Once, Steve had thought about visiting the rest of the Commandos, then after his visits with Peggy, he wasn’t sure his heart would have been able to take it. Sam brings it up from time to time, and maybe he will, one day, not before he brings Bucky with him.)

Steve’s life these days has been on one goal, even as daunting as it becomes as time passes. They find more information _on_ Bucky than Bucky himself; still, Steve keeps searching. Every defunct HYDRA safe house, every run-down factory or warehouse could have a lead, even if they stumble upon more ashes than actual bodies (living or dead). Natasha’s file was enough to get them started and with each new piece of information they can recover, it’s one step closer to finding Bucky.

It’s not without a price.

The files are hard to read, even with Stark tech and willing volunteers ( Professor X has a Russian associate, Piotr, who translates proficiently) to help sort through it all. The web HYDRA and the Red Room wove over Bucky is vast, and the details are chillingly factual. Sometimes, Steve can’t make it, has to take a breather, and each time he feels another pang.

He feels sick to his stomach reading over the details, but Bucky had to live this nightmare. Over and over.

The single certain lead that Steve has is through these files, and all they spell out in black and white is that Bucky has not much time left.

And at the end of it all, no matter how much they research, no matter how much they find, no matter how much tech they have at their hands, that’s all Steve can see.

He’s got a time limit, and he’s not sure for how long.

It’s like when Bucky was first captured, but this time it’s so much worse, the stakes are so much higher. 

Steve isn’t sure the man he’ll find will be Bucky.

~

What should have clued Steve in immediately was how realistic the dream was, right down to the way he could feel the dirt between his toes. 

He’d been halfway through sorting through transcripts, going over file after file of phone calls from a _commandarm_ to one of Bucky’s Red Room handlers, when he’d felt exhaustion hit him, making his body feel like it weighed like lead. Maybe that had been the first clue something was wrong, because the serum usually let him stave off sleep a lot easier than this.

It’s when he realizes he’s not at Sam’s coffee table, and instead staring down Loki Laufeyson in the middle of a forest, that he realizes that something is terribly wrong.

~

Loki stares at Steve blankly. It’s hard to reconcile the man, (god, no, definitely man now) with the same invader who destroyed New York. There’s a hollow, gaunt look to Loki’s face, and he looks exactly like a corpse. Even his clothes look distressed and dirty, and Steve can’t shake the chill that goes down his spine. It’s like Loki’s stepped out of a crypt.

He doesn’t even know what to say, doesn’t understand why he’s dreaming of Loki of all people—instead, he says the first thing that comes to mind, because what else do you do when you’re dreaming of someone who destroyed your home and wanted to conquer your planet? 

“Thor said you died.” Thor is still in mourning. Steve can see it in the line of his shoulders, even as Thor laughs and lives with Jane Foster and settles into Midgard. There’s a shroud around him. “You died saving him.”

Loki doesn’t respond at first, and Steve thinks maybe, just maybe, he has gone crazy, and now he’s dreaming of dead gods instead of dead friends, dead family.

“What do you think? Do I seem dead to you, Captain?” Loki’s smile is eerie, broken, and tired. “I can assure you, I’m quite alive, quite real.”

“Then why come to me, why not Thor?” It turns out to be the wrong thing to say. Loki’s expression shuts down, something that could have been grief long ago, probably frustration now. “He’s—“

“Thor Odinson is of no consequence to me, my dear Captain. It’s you who needs me.” Loki recovers quickly, watching him again, assessing. “There are tales Midgardians tell, of me, of my powers, of the whole throne of Asgard.”

Steve nods. There’s no use denying it. He knows, used to read over the stories in the library about heroic epics of Valkyries, rings of fire, and kingdoms founded on bravery. He’d read and read, hoping some of their strength could fill his bones, that even as his body rattled and shook in the autumn wind, maybe one day he could be like clever Siegfried. 

“Then you know what I am capable of.” Loki looks pleased, and Steve isn’t sure if it’s because he can see the images in Steve’s mind of a small boy building fortresses with the dusty pages of legends around him. “You know that my daughter is Hel, keeper of the realm of the dead. Hel, who tells me of an arrival who will be gracing her doorstep soon.” 

Fear grips Steve like a vice around his heart at the implication. This is a trick, this could be a trick, this _has_ to be a trick.

“You do understand, Steve Rogersson, that it was not only lies I told—half-truths, sometimes the truth entirely. Often, the truth is more destructive than any lie.” Loki continues as if he can’t see the naked panic on Steve’s face. “This man has been creeping closer and closer to her halls lately, and she expects to welcome him.”

These are lies. Loki can’t possibly know about—

“If you do not find him, James Buchanan Barnes will be dead within the hour,” Loki concludes neatly, like he’s not talking about Bucky’s life in his hands, like Steve hasn’t been desperately searching for him for almost a year, maybe even two, maybe decades, really. “That is, unless you get to him first. Even then, he’s more dead than living at this rate.”

“Why should I believe you?” Steve presses, feeling his teeth grit and wanting nothing more than to shake the answer out of Loki. He feels helpless and frustrated, not wanting to give Loki the satisfaction, knowing he’s doing it regardless. “Why would you even tell me this? Why go through all this trouble in the first place?”

Loki looks smug, well, as smug as someone who looks like death warmed over could be. He still seems off, a distant echo of the god he used to be, faint washed-out hues from past vibrant tones. He still smiles, though, even if the action seems more out of practice than actual mirth.

“Do you not remember? It is within my power to bring him back,” Loki explains primly, completely ignoring the rest of Steve’s questions, comfortable in the ability to do so. “I can return him to you and restore his mind, undo years of damage that have left him more monster than man.”

“Yeah, and at what cost?” Because this is Loki. Before the alien that destroyed New York, there was a god, a god that would twist and move truths and lies all in the name of chaos and for his amusement. “I don’t even know if you’re telling the truth. Why should I believe you?” 

“You don’t. You don’t know if this is a truth or a lie, but you have been searching for months, Captain, and you want so desperately to find him it is inconsequential,” Loki says, content to soak in his reaction, and then he adds the final damning nail to the coffin. “Could you really live with yourself when you find his body—and you will eventually—could you go on knowing you had a chance to save him and you didn’t?”

Steve feels the air seize in his lungs, feels like his whole damn body was suddenly doused in ice water and he can’t think about the fact that this is a dream, that this is Loki, that he’s being offered a deal with a known ‘god of trickery’. 

There’s only one answer he can give. He doesn’t, he can’t, think about it for longer because he wouldn’t, he couldn’t live without Bucky, knowing he’s failed him a third time.

“What do you want from me?” Before he was Captain America, before he was Steven G. Rogers, Captain in the 107th, he was just Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers, after all this time, all this science, and all this power is still human. If it means making a deal with the god of lies to bring back his best friend, he’ll do it. 

Every time.

Loki’s smile shifts. It’s ancient and terrifying, and it seals his fate.

~

Bucky Barnes wakes up in the dirty, rundown remains of a cafe; there are holes in the ceiling and rainwater on his face.

There’s a pistol in his hands. It contains exactly one bullet. He feels his stomach rush to his throat, his heart is pounding a million beats a minute, and there’s a putrid smell in the air around him.

He swallows down a wave of nausea, grimacing at the way the smell burns through his lungs, filling his mouth with another taste that makes him feel sick. He lets out a groan at the feeling of something heavy and obtrusive on his left side and what the _hell_ is that on his arm?

He’s alive.

He’s alive, and he has a damn metal arm, and how the hell did he get from free falling in the mountains to this _hell hole_?

That’s when he feels it: a rush of memories, lifetimes lived where he’d been something else. It’s sick and vivid and encompassing, and it makes another wave of bile rise to his throat, and he’s half-tempted to pick up the gun again because _Christ-in-heaven-what-has-he-done_ —

He’s got no other time to panic, however, interrupted by the sound of footsteps. It’s instinctual, but he’s up and already taking cover behind an overturned table. If it’s those HYDRA assholes again, well, he’ll take them all down with him.

Before he can even raise his gun there’s a loud explosion behind him, and he rolls, ready to strike, expecting the worst, and—

“Sergeant Barnes?” 

_Iron Man_ , Bucky’s mind supplies, already able to list potential weak spots in the armor and the ghost of orders whispered in the back of his mind. Bucky swallows and tries to focus on the polish of the armor in the gritty light, doing his best to ignore the buzzing in his head. It’s not exactly easy. He grits his teeth.

The faceplate lifts up and it is as much a show of trust as it is a display of power. Iron Man still has both hands raised, and Bucky knows how quickly he can fire a repulsor blast in his direction. He’s still got nothing, save the gun in his hands. “Sorry to cut to the chase—I’ve got like three different people who need to make sure you’re the real you and not about to, like, die or anything, and really, I didn’t _want_ to be the one to do this since it’s not really my strong point to deal with this kind of thing—actually I’m probably the _worst_ candidate for this job, but Cap asked me to help, and we’re trying out the whole _friendship_ thing, so yeah—”

“Cap?” Bucky’s mind is filling in the blanks again; a known associate of Iron Man’s is Captain America. Last noted association was from reports of fighting the extraterrestrial invasion in New York—he was not to engage. His mission instead was to make an example of a local politician amidst the backdrop of the chaos of the city. Bucky bites his lip, using the pain to stop the information from drowning him in its overflow. He focuses solely on the sensation for a moment, then finally on the man before him. His voice is thick with disuse and his throat burns. “Steve is…with you?”

Iron Man looks surprised, like he’d expected Bucky to put up more of a struggle, like he’s expecting to have to drag Bucky back kicking and screaming. Distantly, Bucky realizes how fragile his own life is, how easy it would be to neutralize a threat like the Winter Soldier here. 

And yet. 

This man knows where Steve is, and that’s all Bucky wants right now. While he’s already got so much death on his hands, he can also feel the phantom weight of a body being dragged up through the murky waters of the Hudson Bay, felt the water fight him as he clawed his way to bring them to shore. 

Iron Man sighs after a beat, lowering his hands in a show of acknowledgement.

“About that...”

~

Captain America has, for all intents and purposes, completely vanished into thin air.

At least, that’s what Sam Wilson and Tony Stark (and, god, to think Howard’s kid got his dad’s damn bravado and then some) tell him as they escort him back to a shiny glass tower that reminds Bucky way too much of the dime novels he and Steve used to read about the future. 

“He was sitting in the living room last time I saw him, and when I woke this morning he was gone. Like he’d stepped out and was going to come back,” Wilson says, settling across from him, hands folded out. “That was three days ago—all we had was a note that said to be at a certain location as soon as you woke up. That it’d take you sometime _to_ wake up.” 

The air is tense in the plane ride. Bucky half expects this to be some elaborate HYDRA plot, and Stark isn’t exactly convinced that Bucky isn’t about to suddenly pull a runner on them—it all fades in the news that Steve Rogers had enigmatically disappeared. He’d left brief instructions on where to find Bucky and who to take him to and even how to convince him that they weren’t HYDRA remnants or any other kind of shadow organization out for him ( _‘note said to talk to you about how Petunia Greenwater in Sister Ivy’s class punched you in the face for asking what color her socks were—was that old timey code for getting to second base?’_ ). 

No one’s blind to the timing on Bucky’s almost miraculous recovery. 

“To be honest, from what…we were told, we expected you to be shaken up.” Sam Wilson is charming, polite, and above all else, recognizes the need to give Bucky some space. Bucky vaguely remembers him in that twilight haze of before, and it’s hard to ignore the guilt in his stomach at the disarming way Wilson’s able to talk to him or even see the man before the murderer. “We expected, well, Steve expected the worst—it’s why he was so desperate to find you.” _Desperate enough to rush in head first and do something stupid_ is easily what Bucky’s mind fills in. His mouth feels dry. 

No one’s pointing fingers or casting blame, but Bucky settles on the panic over everything else. This feeling of loss feels both foreign and familiar. 

Figures. No matter how many years pass, or how big Steve gets, he still is the only one that can cause Bucky this much anxiety. 

~

It’s hard to undo years of instinct, beaten and written into his mind, consciously and subconsciously. Even with distinct and verbal consent to the good doctors Strange and Xavier that he indeed wants more than anyone to make sure there is no more of HYDRA left in his mind,he still has to have Stark and Wilson hold him down. 

He gives Stark a black eye before he eventually settles down in the face of Strange’s magic.

The results are damning, even more so than the fact that Bucky’s got magic and a mutant telepath shoved into his brain. He sits and absorbs as he lets Dr. Banner (a man whose unassuming suits and wary expression belie more strength than he lets on) examine his wounds, going over old stab and bullet scars to the best of his abilities; he sits and absorbs as best as he can. 

“There’s no conditioning remaining whatsoever,” Strange says, tone amused yet strained, like he’s not sure what to make of the fact that aside from the memories (and those, those will never ever leave him) his mind is clear. “Everything inside felt like old magic, ancient magic, something I haven’t encountered in ages.”

Stark makes a face. Bucky doesn't get what the kid’s aversion is, considering all that he’s seen lately. The idea of magic can’t be that insulting. Doctor Xavier interjects at that moment, however, equally perplexed and less amused. 

“Your mind is completely healthy even down to your memories. They’re all sorted neatly and efficiently when your mind, frankly speaking, should be a mess. If not from the constant rearranging and forced stasis from HYDRA, then from all the trauma you have endured over the years, but this… this kind of healthy is almost artificially so.” Something in Bucky’s stomach plummets.

“What does that mean?” And it’s chilling, it’s almost like—

“I want to spare the allegories and yet, in all honesty, it’s as if someone _wished_ all the damage from your mind away.” Bucky’s heart starts pumping in his chest a million miles a minute and he tries not to let the shock take over.

“You’re kidding, that doesn't—”

“Well, now you see our dilemma.” Strange remarks, dry and still so damn curious. “This is beyond any sort of power Rogers could possibly come up with on his own.”

“You’re suggesting that Cap found someone to help him? As in wholesome, pure, Cap did some kind of deal with the devil to get the good ol’ Sarge back?” Something about the sentence startles a laugh out of Bucky because really, the observation of ‘wholesome’ and ‘pure’ didn't really fit in with Steve. A big part of him feels content though, happy in the knowledge that Stark couldn't be worse off the mark and only he knew it. 

“Unless Captain America has more to him than he’s let on, then yes, Mr. Stark, I am ‘suggesting,’” Professor X says; however, a line of apprehension is set in his stance. “Whoever did this had to have a considerable amount of power to be able to be so thorough and exact with… whatever they did.”

Basically, the nice doctors confirmed someone went inside his damn mind and rearranged everything to ‘fix’ him. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

~

Bucky’s got no illusions about camaraderie or a sense of belonging as soon as he’s cleared by another doctor and more specialists. Apparently that’s fine and fits in with the model of the ‘new SHIELD’ that Bucky finds himself in, now that Steve is gone. He doesn’t feel at all like picking up the mantle and becoming an Avenger; thankfully, no one seems bent on forcing it on him. Nick Fury holds no grudges towards him, instead he lays out an offer. Fury’s only thoughts on the past are simply that _‘shit you did ain’t relevant now. How the hell am I supposed to hold a damn brainwashed assassin responsible anyway?’_

Integration is a lot easier than expected, and he chafes at it. 

“Besides, you need to find Cap and we need to find Cap. Should be straightforward what I’m sayin' here.” Fury wears the life of a living ghost well, liberated in the only way that someone assumed dead by most of the world can ever really be. “From what Strange, Xavier, and all the others say—you’re about as good as new, which ain’t right because you should be one fucked up piece of work. But, hey, figure that Cap’s got all the answers to that one.”

“You saying you really trust someone who tried to kill you, sir?” Because the last thing he needs or wants is to work for another HYDRA, another SHIELD, newly repaired mind or not, and even if they’re looking at the same goal, he’s not about to make this easy.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes, I’m trying to focus on the big picture here and big picture says, sooner we locate Captain America the better,” Fury says, already above his bullshit and then some. Bucky can see now how this man is still able to hold Wilson and the other former SHIELD agents under him without much besides a stern gaze. “I’m not gonna give you the same lie that we’re changing our image and becoming 100% transparent and all the generated crap that Stark says because, hell, he’s the one bankrolling all this. I’m only the guy managing, don’t know and don’t care about what I need to do besides my job. Bottom line: we’re _not_ your former employers, we’re _not much_ better, though I’d like to think that we’re a step above an evil corporation bent on controlling everyone. Take your pick. I know that you could care less regardless. You want to find Rogers and so do we, so let’s help each other.” 

At the end of the day, Steve trusted these people. Bucky knows that much at least, and that’s what makes the decision for him. Besides, it’d be a lot easier to search for someone with resources than on his own. Even he can see that. 

“Got nothing else going for me, sir, might as well.” 

~

Sam Wilson takes up residence at his side with an ease that Bucky would consider suspicious, if not for the memories he had of bringing the great Falcon with iron wings to earth. The way Wilson held a gun, already doing his part to aid in suppressing fire as Steve raced past towards the Winter Soldier. Besides, his instincts on Wilson aren’t bad. He sees something that he hasn’t seen a while: Dugan’s laugh, Gabe’s swagger and Jim’s smile all reflect in Wilson’s easygoing smirk.

It’s really the least of his problems. Even he is aware that he shouldn’t be alone left alone.

Not right now, not when everything feels like a dream, and even worse, completely natural. 

“… _it’s as if someone wished all the damage from your mind away._ ” It turns out to be the worst possible curse upon Bucky’s mind that ever could be uttered. The unrest inside comes and goes like a tidal wave to shore, though when it appears he feels like he’s drowning in it.

Even with all the ‘help’ that he’s been given; he can remember the blood on his hands, the pleading in someone’s throat as he presses down, the snap of bone as he breaks arms, legs, and necks. He wakes up to the sound of his own screams more often than not.

It’s a sad state of affairs. He’s almost glad for the nightmares, glad that whoever decided to ‘improve’ him left him this. It keeps him sane in its own way and reminds him that he’s not perfect.

He’ll take his natural flaws over this artificial solution any day. He needs this period of weakness to convince himself that he’s still human, that this is reality and not another long winding dream that’s about to be interrupted by the sound of machines and a blank mission shoved into his hands.

It doesn’t help that all he can think about is the empty ache in his side where Steve should be. Knows that if Steve were here, the transition to SHIELD instead of HYDRA would have been a lot smoother, and maybe even this sudden ‘cure’ wouldn’t unsettle him nearly as much as he does. 

He hates himself the most for these thoughts, because wishful thinking is probably what got him here in the first place. Still, the ache inside him grows and grows. No matter what, he misses Steve. Even if… all this is Steve’s fault, Bucky needs him here, to explain. 

If he spends more time throwing himself into files, missions, and constant searching, then Wilson and the rest of SHIELD don’t say a thing. None of them are trying to get him any more help, although there are a few tentative offers from Wilson and some pointed jabs by Stark that he has as a therapist on standby that supposedly works wonders. 

Instead, all Wilson does is give a shrug and follow Bucky’s silhouette in a way that Bucky is sure he probably did for Steve. It comforts him the most.

“So where do we start?” 

~

Clint Barton is Natasha Romanov’s partner and there’s a lot to that Bucky wants to scrutinize. Alexei more so than Bucky—he’s trying, desperately trying to make peace with the fact he’s both and more. The Winter Soldier, James Barnes, and so many more, his body is full of ghosts that will never be exorcised. All he can do is brace himself using different entities for the different men he inevitably was and in some aspects, still is. 

Alexei knows that in another life this could have been jealousy. He can’t help the way he asses Agent Barto—no, Hawkeye—when they’re first introduced but there’s no personal offense in Barton’s stance or manner. Now, however, he is Bucky Barnes, the man that was one of the best snipers in the 107th and a personal childhood hero to young Clint Barton during his stint in the circus. Bucky’s met with playful, almost cautious admiration. 

“The fact that you’re the Winter Soldier is just, like, that much cooler,” Barton divulges over lunch. They’re in London, and they’re sharing fish and chips in a pub with sticky floors and even stickier seats while they scan over another list of possible people Steve could have been staying with. Wilson’s not with them for this one, and Bucky knows it was probably deliberate. Fury isn’t exactly known for his subtlety anyway, testing Barnes to see if he can function well enough with another SHIELD agent that wasn’t the last known companion of Steve Rogers. Bucky’s not sure if he’s insulted or flattered yet. He’s also got a feeling that Stark had a hand in this one.

The mission had been simple: check in with former Howling Commandos and their families and see if Steve had seen any of them. It felt like grasping at straws, well, they had no family besides each other and it beats sitting around SHIELD, reading over more documents. Bucky would rather be in the field chasing a potential lead than in the office going over possible dead ends. Besides, it was good to see Falsworth (even if it’d given the poor guy the near fright of his life to see _him_ ) and the man he eventually grew up to be. He can’t shake the feeling that Steve should have been with him, even if in the end all he and Falsworth did was drink a few ales to Captain America and the Howling Commandos. 

He’d promised he and Steve would return, once he found him. Barton had given him space the entire time, trying to entertain Falsworth’s grandson with polite conversation. Barnes has a sneaking suspicion that Barton accidentally broke the young teen’s heart, but he’s not going to bring it up if Clint won’t.

“You say that like I did something worthwhile,” Bucky says, eating without ceremony, and it’s equal parts self-deprecation and reality. “You’d be thinkin a lot differently if I wasn’t…” 

He doesn’t want to say ‘fixed,’ can’t bring himself to say it, so he doesn’t, stops himself before he can focus too much on it. 

“Yeah well, that I _can_ sympathize with. Ever had a god inside your head? Felt like I couldn’t trust myself for weeks.” Barton says it so easily, like he’s not divulging something as earth-shattering as a mass-murdering assassin seemingly recovering overnight. “Hell, drove Tasha crazy with how jumpy I was around her and mirrors for a while. I think she kicked my ass to get me to stop. Times like this do I miss the way she could rabbit punch me in the throat.”

Bucky, no, Alexei, refrains from asking about her, even with the pointed invitation to. He can only focus on so much at a time right now, and besides, Natalia more than anyone deserves the time to herself. 

“Listen, I’m not going to say it gets better, because it really doesn’t, and this is probably a really heavy conversation to have with someone who was kind of my childhood hero at one point in time and is kind of my competition now for our first sit-down lunch, but, you know.” Barton gestures vaguely across the table. “I figure it should probably be said. Solidarity and all that.”

Bucky almost wants to snap. This exchange is too naked, too direct for someone he’s only just met, hero or not, Natalia or not—he knows that Barton probably knows it all. Considered it and offered it up anyways because it’s better than nothing, and at least he has someone who will happily join him for target practice. Instead he sighs and steals some food off of Barton’s plate. 

“Gonna start makin friendship bracelets now?”

Barton shrugs, completely unaffected as reaches for his glass, beer sticky and half empty. “Depends, will you tie it around your rifle?”

~

From Falsworth in London to Gabe in Paris to Morita in Fresno, Bucky keeps picking at the threads woven from a time before, going with Barton and, more often than not, Wilson down the road to a time before. It’s not easy seeing the Howling Commandos like this, and often he’s simply playing catch-up and trying not to shock the rest of the men into comas when they see that he’s actually alive. He keeps going, can’t stop. Follows one point to another, reuniting with men that grew from the boys he used to know and the families they all had, hoping for some kind of lead. The end goal is Steve and that hasn’t changed, and yet it doesn’t stop him from feeling emotional. The memories (good and bad) fill him as the men before his eyes tell him about their lives and the world he missed, and _‘damn it Barnes, what did they do to you?’_

It’s almost indescribable, the feeling of elation and so much grief at being reunited with the men he was supposed to grow old with.

“Can I ask you something?” Wilson offers up as they drive away from Morita’s place. Bucky’s metal arm feels residual heat from where Morita had laid a hand on it, smile soft and still so damn mischievous.

(“Wish they’d given _me_ a damn metal arm with biceps. You lucky bastard,” Jim had said, mouth full of laughter, but his eyes held something else entirely. Bucky had laughed with him; still, if there had been tears in his own, well, neither man commented on it.)

“We had to share a bed last motel, Wilson, you’re allowed at this point.” Banter with Wilson is easy. He never pushes or pulls, he waits. He lets Bucky come to him on his own terms, and for that Bucky is so damn grateful he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to put it properly into words.

Wilson, like Barnes, Stark, and even Banner, has rooted himself into Bucky’s life, breaking through the broken earth and forcing himself in. In some aspects, he should be angry but… can’t find it in him. They’re not friends exactly, but they are welcome company when he rarely prefers it. 

(Something inside, something that he recognizes but never speaks on, is selfish. They’re the closest he has to Steve and he recognizes it. Doesn’t even have to argue against that part of himself. )

“Yeah well, you actually share the blanket.” Wilson agrees, signaling to switch lanes as Bucky goes over his cellphone. No news from Fury is both a blessing and a curse. They’re waiting on Dugan’s address. “But all that aside, humor me for a sec…”

“Listening, Wilson.”

“I know it’s not your thing to talk, and that’s fine.” Wilson continues like he doesn’t see Bucky tense, expectant. “You already know that I’m here for you, for whatever it’s worth. Even if it isn’t to talk, I don’t mind. We can eat Five Guys and steal all of Barton’s fries again.”

“And?” 

“Nothing, just feel like reminding you sometimes—we’ve known each other for awhile now. “ Wilson’s not asking for trust, for friendship, all he’s saying is that he’s there. And he has been, this entire time. Just like he was for Steve. Like he’ll keep being there when Steve returns. 

Alexei, a harsh whisper in his mind (he’s never going to go away, Bucky has long since accepted it) is weary, the Winter Soldier itself has nothing, and neither does James. Bucky, however, looks up from his phone and makes a face. 

“Dang it, Wilson, now I’m starving.” 

He doesn’t really know what to do with this, any of this, but he hopes it’s enough to convey to Wilson he is grateful.

Wilson nods, smiling, understanding. “Burgers at that diner over there sound good?” 

~

It’s not until the next day as they’re sitting across from Dugan (who still drinks like a damn fish even at eighty and smokes cigars like a chimney) that they get their big break.

“You just missed the Cap—was told not to tell you. Don’t know why he bothers, you know me, ply enough alcohol and I’m singing like Jim,” He guffaws, slapping Wilson on the back with enough force to unsettle the glass of Coke his wife had given him. Wilson is polite enough to only move a little and looks moderately surprised at the strength in his hands. “Look at this guy Barnes, like Gabe but cuter.”

“Gabe was plenty cute.” Barnes says, it comes out more as an aside; he’s focused on the other part of the exchange. “You’re sayin Steve was here?”

“Yeah, yeah go write him a love letter later. Hell yeah, Cap was here, stopped by briefly, think he knows you’re looking for him and is usin me as some kind of go-between. Typical Cap.” Dugan lets out another puff, either ignorant to the tension or simply unaware, typical Dugan. “Weird to see you two fighting again after all this time, it’s been 60 years and you’re all cute and young—this Romeo and Juliet bullshit ain’t great for some of us who have to use an oxygen tank.”

“You’re saying he knows we’re looking for him?” Bucky’s not going to focus on that jab, Dugan’s always been saying shit like that for as long as he was a Commando and Bucky first showed him Steve’s picture. “Did he say where he was going?”

“No clue, went ahead and dropped off this care package for you. Like I said, you guys apparently haven’t changed since the damn 40s in more ways than one.” Wilson coughs into his cola and it’s not even an attempt to hide a laugh, but Bucky’s got more on his mind as Dugan reaches behind his armchair and hands him a small shoebox tied up with string. 

He can recognize Steve’s tidy scrawl from anywhere. On the box is simply written:

“ _Please, Buck, let it go._ ” 

~

The box holds nothing of value to anyone except a poor boy from Brooklyn whose best friend was orphaned at 20 but had already been a grown man long before that.

There are sketches, letters, and pictures of people they knew, people only Steve knew, and places they shared. 

On top of the pile in the box are Steve’s dog tags.

Bucky takes them out from the pile, unhooks the clasp, and puts them on, tucking them under his shirt to protect them from the elements.

“Jerk,” he says as he goes over everything left of Steve Rogers in Wilson’s car, heart like a jack hammer in his chest. 

He has an idea.

“…Wilson, mind if we check in with Fury?”

~

One of the first places they searched for Steve was in his new apartment. The place had been almost uninhabited, and Wilson had reported that most of the time Steve had spent had been with him, so the whole place had been more storage than anything else. 

They drive back there as soon as they land at the airport. The entire plane ride, Bucky couldn’t focus. Just went through Steve’s box over and over again.

When they finally get back to the place, the apartment is still empty.

Steve isn’t there, but some of his clothes are missing.

~

It’s Steve’s first apartment that they drive to after that, the one that had been given to him by SHIELD. He’s still listed as the sole occupant, and Bucky opens the door cautiously, checking over the place before announcing the all clear to Wilson.

The bullet holes in the wall from where the Winter Soldier shot and almost killed Nick Fury are there, and it looks like SHIELD or someone has been paying the landlady to look the other way.

The rest of the apartment is spotless, as if someone had been expecting company.

There’s a pot of coffee that looks days old and hangers in the closet with clothes missing.

“You’re kidding me.” Sam announces, and if his laugh sounds just this side of hysterical… well, Bucky really can’t blame him. The only remaining furniture left is a blanket on the floor. The solitary appliance on the counter is a coffee machine. “He made sure to go back to the one place where no one would think to look. Classic Rogers.”

“He was always like this,” Bucky mutters, unfocused as he tries to go through the apartment for any signs, any clues, because he’s so close and the trail can’t go cold now and—

“Remember much about where Steve said he trained before the SSR got to him?” Bucky looks up from where he’s opening cupboards and finding nothing, trying to ignore the panic and frustration drumming around in his mind.

Sam nods to the dog tags around Bucky’s neck.

“You think he’d ever go back?” 

~

There’s more rubble than anything else in the camp in New Jersey, but they stop and search regardless. Bucky feels like his senses are super charged, feels like the Winter Soldier and Sergeant Barnes—for one of the few blessed times in his mind—coexist as he puts all his effort to scouring the place.

It’s pretty much a dead end. There’s no chance anyone has been there since HYDRA had leveled the place.

At least it seems like a dead end, until they check into a nearby hotel and the receptionist claims a man just left for the airport, with one small suitcase. At Steve’s picture, the receptionist frowns.

“Maybe in a few years he could be like Captain America. That guy was scrawny, all skin and bones. Poor guy had to have help putting his suitcase in the taxi trunk.”

Bucky feels the blood in his veins run _cold_.

“Any idea where he said he was going?” Wilson asks, and Bucky can distantly recognize that Wilson’s taken over for him, feels like he should have gratitude, but can’t hear it over the rushing in his ears. 

He wouldn’t—

He couldn’t—

He didn’t—

“London, I think. It’s sweet... I kept asking him about it cause I was so worried, and the poor guy is just up and goin to London for a bit and that city is gonna eat him alive—”  
Bucky’s already on his phone, calling Stark as if his life fucking depends on it. 

There’s a lump in his throat, and he can’t, he won’t believe that Steve Rogers is dumb enough to do the impossible. 

He refuses to.

~

They get a hold of Thor, and some other time, Bucky would have laughed that he’s talking to a damn _god_ on the phone but right now he’s trying not to throw up at the damn conclusions in his mind. Fury sends them an email from his usual untraceable address that Thor had gotten word that his good friend Steve Rogersson would be visiting soon.

They’re already booked for a flight to London before Wilson can even break away from the chatty receptionist long enough to look up.

Steve is going to get there first—Bucky and Sam are going to do their _damnedest_ to get there after. There’s no way that Bucky is leaving London without his best friend and without all the answers he needs. He refuses to think of the possibility anymore. 

~

The door swings open and all that Steve’s met with is silence. He tries not to let it show how much it hurts to see Thor’s face, like he’s let Thor down, like he’s let them all down. 

“Steve, Son of Rogers, what have you _done_?” Thor asks, pleads, and it probably breaks his heart to see Steve so small, and so fragile. Something about that is painful. Steve tries to smile up at him.

This is his choice, it’s his decision. It was a small price to pay really.

“What needed to be done.” At the gate for his flight, barely able to hold his carry-on, Steve Rogers looks up at the god he once knew as the man he once was.

He tries not to think about all the sadness in Thor’s eyes or the pain probably in his own. Bucky’s coming after all, and it’s not like he can shake him any longer. He’s going to have to bite the bullet and tell the truth.

~

It doesn’t end in a bang, but it’s nowhere close to a whisper either.

Instead, it’s Thor and Jane hovering over him as he tries not to hack his lungs into their nice tea cup, and of course that happens to be the time that Bucky bursts in with Sam hot on his heels.

Two days and Bucky’s staring back at him and there’s pain, relief, and so much sadness in his eyes that, even outside of the coughing, Steve’s lungs feel like they’re on fire. Maybe he’s crying along with Bucky, who knows? He gives a few more body-racking coughs, finally swallows down the tea in his cup, and tries to give the best smile he can to his best friend.

“Hey, Buck.”

~

The reunion is not pretty. 

Thor, Jane, and Sam all know to clear the room as soon as Bucky rounds on him, and Steve keeps smiling even though his body hurts and his damn soul hurts and he’s been hiding this whole time like a damn coward. He can’t keep hiding anymore. Not from Bucky, not from anyone, really, because in the end, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t remove himself from Bucky knowing that he’s alive. Even if he’s got it all in his mind to be pissed at Steve, and he should be pissed at Steve because Loki did… what he asked Loki to do.

It wasn’t what Bucky wanted, and Steve knows he is angry now, probably more so for Steve than himself. Doesn’t that fit it all that Steve just wanted to give his best friend his humanity back and ended up burning them both.

“You damn _idiot_ , what did you _do_?” Bucky demands, and his voice is cracking, and what hurts the most is to know that Bucky, who’s already been through so much, who’s already been in so much pain, is hurting for him all over again.

“I did what I needed to help you, Buck,” Steve tries. His voice is shaking, and maybe he’s shaking too. He forgot how hard it was to deal with being frail all the time, more so now than ever. He keeps his back straight and keeps his gaze focused, because this was his decision, all of it. Bucky’s of sound mind and body, and he’s with him, and in the end that’s all that matters, right?

That’s all that _should_ matter, isn’t it?

At least, that’s what he says to himself as Bucky slams his human hand down on the table. Steve tries not to jump at the noise, or at the very least to will his heart to calm down because it’s beating so fast, and the last thing he needs is to faint on Bucky.

“I didn’t need it.” He continues, because Steve has to let Bucky know, has to let him see that after all this, even with all this, he was lonely, he was dead, he had nothing to go on until Bucky. Bucky, who was going to be dead, and Steve had to do what needed to be done and that’s perfectly fine with him. “I don’t need to be Captain America to keep you safe, so I traded it in for something else. I thought… I thought I could help you. The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. Instead he gives Steve a look, something so old and complicated it makes the air burn in Steve’s lungs all over again. 

He lets out a noise that could have been anger or grief, turns on his heel, and refuses to look at Steve. He stomps out of the room and slams the door behind him.

~

Thor and Sam are a lot nicer about the whole affair, but the general consensus is that Steve is an idiot, and that Steve is a desperate idiot and _what have you done_? 

When he explains the deal he made with Loki, however, Thor goes quiet and excuses himself from the apartment. He doesn’t return for a few days, and really, that’s fair. Steve hated to tell him, because he knew this would happen. Thor needed his own time to mourn and sort out his own feelings on Loki, and really Steve can’t blame him at all. If he and Bucky are complicated, Thor and Loki are made of millennia of old wounds, heartache, and hurt. No one can press Thor on the issue, and no one really wants to. 

Jane gives him tea and tries not to focus on how very breakable he is now, how easily he could be crushed or hurt, or how a strong breeze could probably break a few bones. She makes him food and mothers him in a way he hasn’t really been mothered in a long time, and it’s strange since Jane is a bit scatterbrained in the same way Steve can be about himself sometimes. She makes some soup for him, and he hasn’t had home cooked food since he left Dugan’s, so it warms his belly and his heart the littlest bit. 

Sam looks at him and sighs, deep and disappointed, yet he gently places his arms around Steve’s shoulders and says ever so softly: “I’m so sorry, man. I’m so sorry we couldn’t find him faster, that you had to resort to _Loki_ of all people to help you.” 

It’s that, along with the fact that Bucky won’t even _look_ at him, much less talk to him, that makes Steve break down. 

It’s not the way his body feels foreign to him again, or the fact that he can’t ever wear the Cap suit again, much less even lift his own luggage anymore. It’s the quiet look of heartbreak on Sam’s face and the way that Bucky stares at him like he’s a ghost.

He feels like something dragged out from Bucky’s past, here to haunt them both and that cuts deeper than anything that Steve has ever encountered. It feels as if he’s about to collapse from it all. He hates how badly it hurts him and how much he already misses Bucky, even though he’s right there across the living room, refusing to meet Steve’s glance.

The wish worked, and then it didn’t.

Bucky’s here, but he’s not really; instead, he’s a man angry at Steve for what he’s done, and Steve’s not sure what to do with Bucky so angry and so betrayed. All he’d wanted was to help. 

In the end, all he’s ever wanted was to be able to help Bucky. That’s all that’s ever mattered to him. 

~

The plane ride back to America is quiet. They leave London after a week of avoiding glances, uncomfortable silences, and the feeling of sinking loss that filled the room—and quickly the whole city—till it felt like it was suffocating all of them. Never in Steve’s wildest dreams had he expected this plan to go as badly as it had.

He’s almost relieved to make it to Avengers Tower and the skeleton of SHIELD, even with Tony’s stares and Bruce’s questioning glances. Even Barton looks like he’s not sure of how to handle him; Steve can’t bring himself to think of how Natasha will act when she returns. _If_ she returns.

He didn’t think that returning to his body,to Steve Rogers outside of Captain America would cause him to feel so alien… but it does.

Bucky still won’t look at him, won’t talk to him, and that’s what keeps the air out of his lungs, the rest of his mind in a fog as he makes the lonely trek up to Nick Fury’s office to report in.

~

Fury doesn’t yell at him, and probably the worst thing about this situation is that he doesn’t do much besides look him over and shake his head.

“You did what needed to be done, huh?” It’s not mocking or quizzical, just curious, which helps a lot more than it really should have and make Steve laugh in surprise.

“Yes, sir.”

Fury makes a face like he’s considering something, like there’s something else he wants to say or point out, but he just shakes his head and gestures towards the door.

“Guess we got nothing now, Cap, except for you to build up your stamina, I guess… Also, see a doctor, because, damn, you look like you’re going to need _all_ the drugs we got.”

Steve laughs again and it kind of causes him to wheeze and his head to get dizzy, but hey: at least _someone_ thinks this is all funny, so he keeps laughing, and eventually Fury lets out his own bark of laughter. 

~

Bucky finally corners him after another week of avoidance.

He shows up where Steve is trying (and failing) to punch out some of the frustration he’s got built up last time didn’t exactly go as Steve had planned, which is fine, because he didn’t plan for _this_ at all.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, Buck…” he offers up. At least in the past that worked, however, this Buck… sometimes, Steve is afraid he doesn’t know him at all.

“Eleven.” Bucky cuts in, and seemingly despite himself his mouth twitches upwards, but then he’s back to glaring at Steve and the bag. “You know why I’m mad, don’t you?” Steve does, and he lets Bucky go on. That’s been the best formula they’ve got since they were kids. No reason to change it now. “I’m mad because you didn’t think of the consequences and, once again, rushed into something without thinking about how I would feel about it.”

And that’s true. Really, in that aspect, Bucky’s got every right to be angry. 

Steve had no right to… let Loki do those things.

“It wasn’t, I didn’t—I couldn’t lose you again, Buck.” That’s all Steve can offer. When it comes down to it, he’s selfish, and he needs Bucky with him. It’s always been about them. Even when he was five and scraping his knee while Bucky helped him up and cleaned it out as best as he could, Bucky had always been there for Steve, and all Steve had wanted was to be able to do the same for him. Deep down he knows it isn’t about saving Bucky for friendship either, there’s a part of him that has always been Bucky’s, a small quiet part that was always jealous of the many girls that looked Bucky’s way. And at the heart of it all, Steve knows he’d probably do it all over again. _Would_ do it all over again.

“I can’t apologize for wanting to save you.” 

Something about that makes Bucky grit his teeth and Steve realizes that he looks… _devastated_. 

“Can’t or won’t? You ever think about what I want? What if it had all gone south? What if Loki agreed and then made it all some dream or worse, what if he had decided to go ahead and make the Winter Soldier again?” Bucky sounds upset, and he has every right to be. Steve knows what it looks like, what it says about him, so he stands there and takes it. 

It’s that last part, though, that chills Steve to the core.

“What did you want me to do? You heard the doc, you’d have been _dead_ , and you had a pistol with one bullet in it. You think I don’t know what that means, Buck?” He’d been so desperate, and if the price to pay to keep Bucky safe was the damn super soldier serum and being Cap, then fine, take it. Take it all away, because being Captain America didn’t save his best friend. “You needed help.”

“In all the time we’ve known each other, when you used to get the damn shakes when the weather changed, I have never, ever tried to fix you.” It’s the lowest blow Bucky could deal and it cuts so deep that it leaves Steve speechless. “You don’t get it, Steve, you don’t understand what it _feels_ like to have someone go inside your head and then to find out that you let someone do it to me again. What the hell am I supposed to feel like? I thought I was dreaming, because for the first time in a long time I didn’t have a target and my mind was clearer than it’s ever been, and it’s all because you _wished_ it away? To the god of _lies_?” 

“I wasn’t trying to ‘fix’ you, Buck. I just wanted to help. I didn’t want to lose you again. Three times is enough for one lifetime,” Steve finally manages. It’s hard to get the words out around the lump in his throat. He turns to leave and Bucky lets him, won’t even make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of the consequences.” 

“You never do.” Bucky always has to have the last word, and Steve always lets him.

~

Bucky’s got nowhere else to go, and the remainder of SHIELD—basically Stark, Bruce and Pepper—all feel apprehensive about Steve living by himself, despite his protests that he spent most of his formative years in worse condition, so they’re both forced to co-habitate in Avengers Tower with Bruce and sometimes Fury and Barton.

It’s easy enough for them to avoid one another; with Bucky throwing himself head first into any mission that Fury will give him except assassinations, and Steve too embarrassed and hurt to face him, they manage to miss each other.

Steve can’t ignore the pang he feels when he hears Bucky’s voice down the hall or when he hears his name mentioned. He tries not to wonder if Bucky feels the same way. 

_Tries_ being the tentative word.

~

“Listen, I’m all for embracing your flaws and living with them but, you may want to ease off Rogers,” Tony says in greeting one day as Bucky enters to bring them more paperwork from Fury. Tony and Bruce never actually seem to leave the lab; if they do, it’s usually to go to the OTHER lab in the basement. “The reconditioning that HYDRA made you go through was barely a step above a lobotomy. HYDRA wasn't concerned about the long term, and they put you on ice for a reason—they were miles away from the same results as the serum. Your healing factor is basically a _toddler’s trike_ to Steve’s damn _Harley_.”

“So what? You think turning to _Loki_ was a good idea?” Because Bucky’s still angry and will be a for a while, because it’s just like Steve not to even _think_ of the consequences, always rushing into things without thinking of the cost until he’s on the floor with his bones broken.

“Hell no,” Tony answers without a beat, pulling up pictures and scans of files with faded Cyrillic and broken English all scribbled in the margins where HYDRA was taking notes on the damage they were doing to him. They were taking pictures of his damn brain, and he can hear Bruce saying something like ‘ _Tony, don’t’_. Bucky takes it all in. He should feel something, maybe outrage, maybe grief at what they did to him, but instead he stares almost blankly at the evidence on the screen before him.

“We already had Strange look over you, I mean, if you believe in that sort of thing—and he’s the foremost authority we have in his ‘field.’” Bucky ignores the theatrical air quotes Stark feels like he needs to exaggerate, while Bruce sighs. “I’m not saying what he did was right, and it really wasn’t. It—”

“—It’s kind of understandable,” Bruce finishes, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Steve has been looking for you for a while, and he was—he kept hitting dead ends, and he was worried. We found the Red Room reports before we could find you, and we knew you were operating on a time limit. Loki’s not the greatest alternative… but what else could he do? That kind of magic doesn’t come easy.”

“Believe me, you don’t understand how much I sympathize with you. The idea that someone could wish all my flaws away actually sounds like my worst nightmare. Rogers didn’t _wish_ for the Winter Soldier to go away, or the memories and he could have.” Stark shrugs, adding at Bucky’s expression, “You’re really telling me if the tables were turned you wouldn’t do something incredibly stupid to save him?”

“Besides, there’s something else we have to worry about in this situation.” Dr. Banner turns away from the display screens, rubbing at his temples. “If Loki spent so much time trying to convince everyone, including Thor and the rest of Asgard he was dead, why would he risk doing all of this in the first place?”

~

No one is surprised when Thor, Jane, and Darcy show up to Avengers Tower barely a week later. Fury’s out but didn’t say much, only that he left information with Maria Hill and that was all that needed to be said on the matter. Stark had been livid at the obvious shut-out at first, but eventually held up his hands and remarked that it was ‘plausible deniability’. After arriving, Dr. Foster immediately mentioned something about a colleague and excused herself, attempting to give Thor the space he needed. 

Thor, whose smiles don’t reach his eyes, just looks so, so tired. Steve can’t help but sympathize. He knows how it feels to lose someone over and over. He’s still not sure what to make of it all, and really, Steve’s the one that _lived_ it even he doesn’t know what Loki’s angle had been. 

“Erik’s on another flight with my boyfriend, so he’ll be here in a few days.” Darcy is comforting to be around like Clint is, or Sam. After the initial shock, they've been the most welcoming about the whole change. “Can’t wait for you to meet him, Cap, he started out as my intern, you know? Ian’s so cute, he’s going to take my name if we ever get married for totes.”

“I’ll be sure to send you all my best when the time comes,” Steve says, looking up from where he’s making a protein smoothie. Pepper had suggested maybe nutrients would make him less sickly. He’s finding mild success with a few concoctions since taste isn't really a bother to him, considering the alternatives in the 1930s. 

“You better do it in person. I want Captain America at my wedding!” Darcy pouts, elbowing him lightly, barely a press. “Promise me you’ll go.”

“I’m not Captain America.” Not anymore.

“Fine, then go as my friend Steve. I want you there, okay?” And it’s not even a real wedding, and he hasn’t even met Darcy’s future groom, but it touches Steve all the same. 

~

Steve is in the gym again, breathless from exertion but still punching the same damn bag.

“This is so unfair, it’s bigger than you are now,” comes a voice from behind him, and Steve grits his teeth and tries to hit it harder. It almost comes swinging back at him with enough force to knock him over. 

“Not now, Agent Barton.” Clint doesn’t take the hint and instead moves to hold the bag in place. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m doing this for the bag’s sake just as much as yours, you know.” Clint laughs, grip secure around the base. “Listen, Cap, we need to talk.”

Steve’s not really in the mood for another well-intentioned, if draining talk, but he sighs and nods. He might as well get it all over with.

“Don’t be that way Rogers, I’m not the bad guy here.”

“No, that’s me.” 

“I wasn’t going to say that you were. You made a bad decision, we all do it. Hell I do it all the time.” Steve’s shock must be obvious because Clint makes a face. “Oh come on, you’re old enough to be my grandpa, why would I lecture _you_? Nah, this isn’t about you, Rogers, this is about Barnes.”

Steve almost prefers that Barton go back to teasing him than bringing up Buck again. Outwardly, he slides down into position and tries to land a punch on the bag. It connects and pain thrums up his arm, he squares his jaw.

“I’m taking that as a signal to go ahead—anyways, point being, Rogers, I’m the _last_ person you need to hear a lecture from. However, Cap, considering I survived Loki’s own personal invasion of my sanity, I figure I should offer some advice.” It’s… unexpected, and Steve stops trying to give another uppercut to the bag, lets his stance relax. Barton gives him a small smile. “Listen, I know you can’t comprehend the damage you _could_ have done. Honestly, that part wasn’t so great, and Barnes is pissed about that, will be for a while, but you already know that. You probably figured he’d go on hating you for a good long time.”

And it stings how much Steve knew, how he had spent time thinking about it as he drove away from Avengers Tower and set it all in motion.

“What’s done is done,” Clint continues. “The point is, though, Barnes is equally as pissed about the fact you didn’t even begin to think about yourself. Doubt it overrides how pissed he is about the whole going into his mind thing, but, you know...” Barton finally releases the bag and lets out something close to laugh. “Besides, from what Barnes told me, you started this whole get-him-back-to-himself process in the first place, even while he was trying to kill you. Don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s not much you can do now except wait. You know him better than I do, and even I can tell he needs time to cool off—doubt Barnes can spend the rest of his life hating you, not when he literally spent the last four months searching for you day and night.”

Barton looks like he’s dangerously close to ruffling Steve’s hair. When Steve frowns though, Clint reaches up and pats him on the shoulder. 

“By the way, you ever figure out _why_ that bastard Loki did all this in the first place?”

~

Bucky knows he’s not in a dream the minute he feels the wind blow on his face, and he drops into a crouch as soon as he’s able. He’s got nothing on him but the workout pants he wore to bed and there’s nothing around him except ice in this dark cave. He’s damned if he’s not going down without a fight regardless. 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.” Loki looks just like Steve described him, porcelain pale and eyes hollow. Bucky doesn’t relax, even as Loki saunters forward, boredom in his step. “There’s really no need for that, is there? After all that I’ve given you?”

“Well, undo it. I don’t want this.” Bucky’s voice is a growl and if it unnerves Loki he doesn’t show it, only raises a brow. “Give Steve Captain America again.” 

“I can’t. Even if I wanted to undo it, the oath is made of powerful magic, and it would take a greater cost to undo it all, more than you can hope to pay.” Loki tilts his head, studying him. “Oh, he does love you, doesn’t he? Steve Rogers did everything he could to keep you safe.”

“Why did you approach him in the first place?” Bucky’s used to the feeling of being studied, like a lab animal about to be put down. He’s not going to give Loki the satisfaction of submitting, even if Loki’s teasing about something he’s longed for all this time. “Why get us caught up in your business?”

Loki continues to study him, considering him for a few more minutes before cackling. His eyes are glowing green so brightly that it makes Bucky squint at their sudden glow.

“I suppose you can go tell that oaf Odinson to stop wailing and bemoaning my existence and deliver the pleasant news.” Loki holds up a hand and Bucky can see the lights of his eyes through it, can see how the appendage is fading. “I decided to bestow one good turn to the mortal Steve Rogers in exchange for more time. However, I underestimated how weak you Midgardians are. Even one with a constant healing factor.”

“What are you saying—you planned all of this from the beginning?” Bucky watches the light in Loki’s eyes dim. “You were after the super soldier serum. Why would you need that? You’re a god, aren’t you? Thor said—”

“ _Gods fall_.” It sounds like it could have been sneered out of Loki’s lips. It sounds… exhausted, like uttering the words themselves expends too much energy. “Separated from my magic in Asgard, my body cannot subsist on its own and I have neither will nor means to return to get it back and face imprisonment from my father again.” 

Bucky barely knows the story between Thor and Loki, got a few details here and there but even he can tell that there’s more to this. There’s a clench to Loki’s jaw at the mention of Thor that Bucky instinctively recognizes. He knows he’s worn the same expression whenever Steve would walk in, post-rescue of the 107th, flustered as everyone suddenly saw in the scrawny boy from Brooklyn what Bucky’s seen all along.

“So you’re dying?” Bucky feels strangely avenged if only for the fact that Loki’s own plan backfired on him. “Stealing Steve’s healing factor and muscles were useless to you, weren’t they?”

At that Loki looks… irritated, and Bucky feels that much more victorious.

“They served their purpose; I was able to subsist long enough to see my work completed,” Loki says, face and tone carefully blank. “I should think that I’ll at least be able to rest in peace now.”

“Why do this? Why call me here if you’re about to keel over? I don’t even know you.” Bucky can’t help it, he straightens because he’s got enough in him to at least acknowledge a dying man—god—that called him for what was pretty much a deathbed confession.

“Perhaps I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about… I must say I’m a bit underwhelmed,” Loki observes, except the way he looks at Bucky makes him realize Loki sees someone else, someone that could have been a big brother, a protector, a friend once, long gone. “Not to worry, this will be the grand finale.”

“What is?”

Loki smirks, eyes glowing green for the last time, and suddenly Bucky feels like his whole body is on fire.

~

Bucky wakes up in a cold sweat, eyes darting around his room. He takes a deep breath and rises, going to open the door and walk as fast as his legs can carry him to Thor’s room.

He reaches for the door, but it swings open. Stark and Barton are already assembled and standing in front of Thor. Steve is practically dwarfed next to him, and he hands Thor a glass of water that Thor shakily accepts as he turns way from the window he’s surveying.

Thor grimaces in greeting, and Bucky already knows he doesn’t even need to say it.

“Loki, son of Odin, son of Laufey…is no more.”

~

Somewhere in France, a baby is born with green eyes, black hair, and completely free of the house of Odin.

~

Steve is sitting on the rooftop. He’s sitting on the rooftop, and he’s holding a sketchpad as big as he is, and for a minute, Bucky’s back in Brooklyn.

His chest aches at the familiar sight.

It’s been a strange few days, with Thor hastening to return to Asgard and Jane going with him for support. The rest of the Avengers Tower’s occupants held their own celebrations at the death of Loki, but the festivities felt muted. “This feels weird,” Clint had said. “Like, I wanted the guy dead, but seeing Thor… I’m not exactly sure I want to invite him out drinking when he’s like that.” 

Even Fury had been more subdued, telling Barnes that he didn’t even have much work to begin with, and “what do I look like, a temp agency? Go sort out your shit with Rogers if you want work.” 

Later, he’ll have to reflect on the fact that even the head of SHIELD, or whatever they were now, has a vested and active interest in his love life. Right now, though, Bucky feels like seeing Steve. 

Like he _needs_ to see Steve. 

Maybe it’s knowing that Loki used him, or even the weird way that Loki’s death struck something in him, but he can’t consider another moment fighting with Steve like this. Whatever the case, he’s had enough of it all.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Bucky says after a moment, when Steve doesn’t look up from his work. Steve continues to sketch, and everything about his body language is screaming wariness. Bucky sighs and finally goes to take a seat next to him, letting the loose rooftop gravel press into his ass as he settles in.

“Can we skip the part where we apologize and drop this all already?” Steve pauses in his sketch, like he’s not sure what to do with such an obvious olive branch.

“Can’t be that simple, Buck.” Despite it all, it sounds hopeful and that’s enough for Bucky.

“Actually, it is, as long as you promise me that you won’t do something stupid like this again,” Bucky says, and he tries not to study the way the sunlight hits Steve’s eyelashes or the way the sight makes his heart ache. And he can’t believe he’s trusting Loki’s dying words—dying words that were probably lies all the same, but you don’t… sacrifice it all for just anyone, right? “Because… it would really suck if the _guy_ I started dating up and got himself hurt like that again.”

Steve actually freezes, and there’s a loaded moment of silence. He actually starts breathing heavily and for a wild second Bucky is worried that not only did his misread the situation, but he gave Steve a reason to go into a panic attack. There’s nothing more he can do than lay all his cards on the table, he just didn’t expect it to actually shock Steve into needing his inhaler and—

“Well, hopefully the guy _I_ start dating will handle himself enough so that I don’t have to put myself in those situations anymore,” Steve says after a moment, and he’s flushed and trying to hide behind his sketchbook, and it’s adorable and beautiful and everything that Bucky’s ever wanted.

He reaches over and slowly lowers Steve’s sketchbook, prying his charcoal smudged hands from the pages.

“Promise?” He leans forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s, watching the way his face lights up and his pupils go wide.

“Promise.” Steve gives him a smile, the same one that’s always been just for him, and leans forward to capture his mouth. 

~

It’s not even a week before Steve and Bucky are both summoned into Fury’s makeshift office, Stark, Hill, Sam, and Bruce already waiting with Clint visible on a hovering holographic window. 

“Cap, we got a proposition for you—and don’t get mad at me, this wasn’t my idea—” Fury begins, gesturing towards the both of them to come closer.

“—It was mine,” Stark interjects, completely at ease as he leans against Fury’s desk and adds, “Okay, well, Brucey, Sam, and Barton helped a liiiittle bit—”

“—Thanks for the shout-out, Stark.” Barton rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and there’s something about the way they’re all staring at Steve and Bucky that’s starting to concern them. Sam beams at them enigmatically, and Hill sighs. She unfolds her arms and produces a manila folder.

“Gentlemen, we have a proposition for you.” 

~

“Absolutely _not_.” That is all that comes out of Steve’s mouth, and he looks at all of them, scandalized. “You can’t—Loki said I can’t—”

“ _You_ can’t be Captain America. The problem is we need _a_ Captain America,” Fury continues as if Steve wasn’t looking at him aghast. “We cleared it with Thor, and it’s enough of a loophole that this could actually work. Besides, Rogers, Loki’s magic took away the shield, the muscles, and the serum—the rest of that stuff? Blissfully intact. I saw you trump the intern Cho at chess earlier, and the damn kid is literally a certified genius. Eighth smartest in the world or something like that. Point is, we still need you.”

“You’re asking me… to be you?” Steve demands, and he’s looking at Bucky like they’re all crazy, but Bucky looks speculative. 

“You know, Steve, you’ve always been born to be a leader. At least, I always said so,” Bucky offers up, hands on Steve’s shoulders and devil-may-care smirk already in place. “This? This is perfect, and besides, I don’t trust anybody but you to watch my back. I won’t do this alone. Not without you.”

Steve takes in Bucky’s words, then the rest of the expectant faces around the room. He takes in a deep breath.

~

_AVENGERS TOWER, July 7th, 9:30 am_

“So, does this count as sleeping with my boss now?” Steve swats Bucky’s hands away as he continues to straighten his tie. It’s his first mission, and even without the suit he still feels all the nerves. They don’t have much time. Kree war ships wait for no man. 

“Technically, Fury’s _both_ our boss so, no, I should hope not—”

“You know what I mean, Steve.”

“Go on and get out there already.” Steve smirks up at him, and even though he’s only up to Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky feels awed. However, it _could_ have to do with Steve’s very nice three-piece suit that screams expensive and commanding. Steve gives a salute. “Good luck, Captain America.”

“Don’t need it, as long as you’re watching my back.” Falcon and Barton are laughing outside the hangar, no doubt taking bets, but Steve and Bucky can’t be bothered. It’s all come down to this. 

“Anything you feel like you wanna say to me?” Bucky gives him the filthiest smirk that Steve has ever seen, and he can’t help but flush at proximity as Bucky lowers his head down to whisper, “ _Commander_?”

“Be careful.” Steve doesn’t pull away, leans up to kiss him before he’s any wiser. “Don’t give me a heart attack, jerk.”

“Yes sir, _Commander Rogers_ , sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, I'm sorry for like my entire bias towards Skinny Steve, which I feel like inspired most of this fanfic whoops. SteveBuckyBigBang was a blast y'all, I'm so glad I got to be a part of it this year. Thanks for reading. Comments and Criticisms are always appreciated.


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